Fumbling Toward Ecstacy
by Brat-Child3
Summary: I shouldn't be happy he's back, especially after trying so hard to forget him. Somehow, I need to find the balance between our friendship and my love for him; without breaking Eric Cartman's heart." Kyle's POV.
1. Snow

**Authors Note: **I know, I probably shouldn't be starting another story. Especially one where I have only a vague clue where it's going. lol I haven't given up on Losing You and Heart of Glass. Both chapters of each should be out shortly. Before Christmas. Now, lets hope that everyone can stop drooling over the Twilight movie long enough to actually get interested in a little SP love?

**Disclaimer: **Do not own South Park.

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**Chapter 1- Snow**

"_Shit,"_ I muttered, the profanity coated in quiet disbelief_._

Outside the door of Park County High it was snowing. Fucking _snowing_, and dammit, I had believed the weather man when he said it'd be sunny this week. For a moment I just stood there, watching the flakes spiral down softly, forming shoddy patterns against the cold glass window. The gentle dusting of pure white was already caked along the ground, pristine and glistening with radiance. It would be a picturesque scene for anyone who hadn't been raised an assumed Eskimo child in South Park. To me, the entire charade was nothing but the epitome of inconvenient.

"_Shit,"_ I cursed again, final and venomous as I pulled my green sweat-jacket closer around myself. A gust of cold air rushed up to meet me as I opened the door, sharply cutting off my breath. I gritted my teeth and plowed through the already trampled blanket of snow.

This was all Eric Fatass Cartman's fault, as usual. He was supposed to be my ride home, but he had decided he'd rather spend an hour after school serving detention with Kenny than see to it I actually got home on time to avoid the wrath of my fire-breathing mother. This would be the third time in less than two weeks I had to call Craig—who was always gone the moment the bell rang—and ask him to pick up my little brother, Ike, while he was already stopping by the middle school for his sister. And my mom wasn't getting any happier about Ike spending time with the Tucker children; he'd recently taken to the habit of flipping people off and couldn't seem to control it.

Cartman told me to wait for him in the library, which would have been fine; I wanted to get a head start on my English report anyway. But hell would freeze over before I'd ever give him the satisfaction of fulfilling his commands. Walking in the snow wasn't so bad, but I hadn't been prepared and would probably freeze to death before I made it halfway. No hat, no gloves, and nothing beneath my thin sweat-jacket besides a light cotton T-shirt.

The only thing mildly decent about this situation was the fact that for once I actually wasn't thinking about _him._ Usually I had to invent things to distract myself with, like counting the edges of various objects or playing Kenny's game of imagining what kind of underwear everyone wears. But, Christ, this was Cartman we were talking about here, and he was the only person who could wipe my mind entirely of everything except my profound loathing of him. I cursed his name beneath my breath, trying to be careful as I eased across the slick concrete of the first departing step. But I was still heavily under the influence of irritation and slipped a little when I clomped down too hard. My hand latched onto the support-railing.

"Goddammit," I raved. I felt the simmering anger in my blood come full boil when someone chuckled at my clumsiness. My glare followed the noise, wavering when I recognized the figure lurking just to the left. He was leaning against the steel railing a few steps down, arms crossed casually as the dark blue of his gaze followed my movements. Snow feathered delicately against his cheeks and lined along the shoulders of his black hoodie, but he made no attempt to shield himself. My jaw went slack as I took him in: lanky body, hair the color of dark chocolate, a soft dimple on his right cheek.

My breath hitched, pulse points jolting to an erratic throb. Slowly, my eyes widened. "...Stan?" I whispered, hardly daring to believe it. He flashed a smile, and the gesture lit up his entire face.

"Kyle." He laughed loudly; pure, unrefined happiness bubbling out of his throat. "Oh, God, Kyle!"

"_Stan_!" I dropped my overstuffed book bag, my belongings spilling out and forgotten in the snow as I flung myself at him. He received me eagerly, softly chuckling at my enthusiasm. "Oh, God." I squeezed my arms tighter around his waist, unable to keep the urgency out of my voice. "Oh, God... Oh, God..."

He turned his face into my neck, and I felt his eyes flutter closed. "Shhh. Easy, Ky," he whispered, rubbing circles into my back. "It's okay, I'm right here. It's okay."

Tears burned beneath my eyelids. I didn't even try to be strong; I dissolved completely in his embrace, letting my shoulders shake with muted sobs. He held me firmly, gently shushing me, but I could hear the hitch in his voice every time he spoke my name.

Stan had left South Park over a year ago, and I hadn't spoken to him since. The last words between us had been vicious and spiteful in the midst of our breakup. Three days before his departing plane, not even twenty-four hours after we'd given our virginity to each other. I was too angry to care when he left, too hurt and too proud to admit how deeply it ached until a week after he'd already been gone. And even then I'd felt too betrayed and too guilty by everything that had happened to even attempt to contact him.

I knew we'd still have to talk about it, sort things out. Eventually it was going to come up. But for now we clung shamelessly to each other, a year of emptiness, heartache, and regret evaporating in an instant. I had dreamed of this moment every minute since he'd been gone, but I honestly thought I'd never see him again. God help anyone who tried to mock me for this moment of public affection.

"God, I've missed you," he whispered, and I trembled against him, snuggling deeper into the warmth of his arms. His embrace was all too familiar, as if he'd held me yesterday. For a moment I forgot about everything that had happened between then and now and wondered how I'd ever gotten by without him. But guilt speared me seconds after the thought occurred, and I pulled away with reluctance, keeping our bodies at close proximity.

Tears were welling around the bottom rims of his eyes. He quickly swabbed them away, laughing gently at how emotional we'd gotten. I beamed at him through my own sentiment and brushed some snow off his shoulder, unable to keep from touching him for too long. I had to know he was _real._

"You're..._Jesus_, Stan, I... fuck, I can't believe it's really you," I said, the first to break the silence. "How long have you been back? Where are you staying?"

"I'm kind of staying with you until the deal on the house goes through," He answered sheepishly. "Your mom insisted. And I've only been in South Park about two hours. My parents said I should wait until you got home, but I couldn't help myself. I had to see you."

There went my heart, just as it always had in past, mutating into a lopsided tangle as it began melting under his smile. But something else he said had caught my attention. I waved my hands in front of me. "Wait, wait. The deal on the house? You mean-?"

He nodded. "Yeah, Kyle, I'm back. For good."

"Fuck, dude!" I wailed, clutching his shoulders. It was hard not to notice they'd widened a little. "How'd that happen?"

"They're back together again," Stan said, referring to his parents. They'd gotten separated, Randy moving to Montana and Sharon toting Shelly and Stan with her to Florida. "My dad actually moved out to Florida two months after the separation, and they worked things out in under a week," he explained. "It just took them this long to get sick of the impending hurricanes and miss the snow."

"God bless South Park."

"Amen." He saluted the South Park banner draped idly against the towering flagpole. "You're gonna have to catch me up on everything, Ky. You still hang out with Kenny and Cartman, right?"

There was a prick like ice somewhere inside me, and my smile felt suddenly plastic. "Yeah. Yeah, they're in detention."

Stan's smile widened, his eyes glittering with dark interest. "What was it this time?"

"They stuck T-pins in a block of clay and left it on the science teachers chair. It was actually pretty funny, he yelped like a Chihuahua."

Stan laughed, and I couldn't help but join him. "So you're still managing to put up with Cartman?"

Words eluded me. I could actually feel my face go white, which was strange. Since Cartman had so brashly outted me to my parents, I hadn't exactly cared much about who knew about my boyfriend. I could pack a punch that would knock the wind out of anyone in a single blow. But as I looked at Stan, his eyes twinkling with silvery humor, I realized I wasn't okay with the prospect of him knowing. And that made me feel like the lowest piece of shit on Earth.

"God, Stan...I-" My cell jingled in my pocket. I smiled apologetically and pulled it out, guilt flooding me when I read the name. My eyes locked with Stan's as I flipped it open and brought it to my ear. "Cartman?"

"Where the hell are you, Jew boy? I told you to wait in the library."

Stan's eyes had lit up when I said Cartman's name, and he pressed the side of his face against mine to listen. I angled my phone so he could hear. "I know, but-"

"_But_, I'm in the goddamn library and you're not!" Cartman cut me off. "You want to tell me why that is, Kahl?"

Stan suppressed a snicker. I glowered. "Aren't you supposed to be in detention? Detention goes for an hour, Lardass, not ten minutes."

"It's called _negotiation_, Kike. And if you call me fat one more time, I swear to God I'll-"

"You'll what?" I fired back. "Sit on me? Bulldoze me with your massive stomach? Smother me in chocolate syrup and eat me for dessert?" There was hesitation on the line, and I felt my stomach lurch when I realized what had slipped out. I cast a sideways glance at Stan and swallowed hard.

"Now you're thinking more along my level," Cartman said, almost whispered, his voice dropping to a deep, husky tone. "I may take you up on that offer. For now, you've got five minutes to get your Jew ass in here."

Nothing got my rage going like Cartman giving me orders. I pressed my lips into a hard, angry line. Any trace of guilt or embarrassment quickly dissolved in my never ending pool of fury toward him. "My ass isn't going anywhere. I'm the one who had to wait for you, _fat boy_, so you'll have to come to me. I'm in front of the building. _You _have five minutes before I run my key over your cars' pretty red paint."

"Kahl! I'm so ser-"

I crunched my phone closed and jammed it back into my pocket. Stan was looking at me curiously, a puzzled quirk arching his eyebrow. "What was that all about?"

"What?" I sneered, still defensive. I knew what was coming next; fuck, I knew what I had to tell him, and I really didn't want to. I moved back up the stairs and began shoving items back into my book bag, mostly for an excuse not to look at him. "Cartman and I have always argued like that."

"Well, yeah, but..." He fumbled for words a moment, then finally gave up with a frustrated grunt. "Chocolate _syrup_?"

I closed my eyes with a resigned sigh and leaned my face into my hand, still crouched on the snow covered step. "I was seriously only making a fat joke."

"But Cartman said-"

"I know. I didn't finish." I flung my book bag over my shoulder and stood, shifting uneasily beneath his analyzing stare. Nothing I could do would make this blow any softer or easier to digest. Nothing I could do would make it any more _believable._ And I couldn't stall. Cartman was surely racing as fast as a hippo possibly could, and who knew how _he _would expose the truth. There was nothing I could do but plunge. "Cartman and I are dating."

Stan just stared at me, blinking twice. I watched an array of emotions play across his face: confusion, disbelief, shock, horror, confusion again. Finally, I could see the puzzle pieces putting themselves in order, and when the last one found its way home, a smile spread slowly across his face. He chuckled lowly, biting into his lip, and then doubled over laughing.

I adjusted the leather strap of my bag across my shoulder and sighed, waiting for him to get a hold of himself. If he were any other person, his balls would have been ground up and stuffed in the base of his throat right about now. But I had expected him to laugh. Either that, or vomit all over my shoes. It wasn't like I could blame him; if I told myself two years ago that someday Cartman would spear his tongue down my throat and I'd like it, I'd probably shoot myself just to prevent it from ever happening. But it _had _happened, I _did _like it, and for fuck's sake, somehow I had to convince Stan it wasn't a joke before the fatshit paraded out here and said something retarded.

"God, Kyle," Stan wheezed, clapping me on the shoulder. "Your sense of humor is seriously twisted now. I actually believed you for a minute." He was still laughing, using my shoulder as a crutch. My skin tingled beneath the fabric where his hand rested.

"Stan," I said, trying to sound as serious as possible. "Stan, I wasn't joking."

The melodious bells of his voice cut off abruptly. His eyes sharpened, focusing on my expression, searching frantically for any sort of waver that would call my bullshit. He found none. I could tell when the reality began to rain down on him by the way his jaw slackened, lips parting slightly. "Y-you..." An unstable sigh escaped me as I nodded. Stan let out a nervous breath of a laugh, suddenly blinking feverishly. "Dating? As in _dating _dating?

"He's my boyfriend," I confessed, and was surprised how easily the words rolled off my tongue. They sounded a lot more confident than I felt inside.

Stan still looked confused. "But, it...you...just called him a lardass."

"He _is _a lardass, Stan. He's just, you know," I shrugged. "_My _lardass."

His eyes widened another degree. "Jesus _Christ_, Dude!"

The school doors were kicked open with a loud bang, Cartman bursting through with Kenny trailing idly behind, laughing because it was _always _funny watching the waddle that was Cartman's run. I'd almost forgotten I was angry with the fatass until I looked into his accusing, chocolate brown eyes. Mine narrowed in return, unflinching as he marched toward me, his pudgy cheeks red with anger.

"Kahl, I swear to God, if you laid one Jew finger on my-" He cut off sharply when he spotted Stan, arms poised threateningly in the air.

It took Kenny seconds to swallow his own shock and let out a loud whoop of excitement. He charged directly into Stan's arms, kissing him soundly on the lips before he could protest. "Stanley-_fucking_-Marsh!" He exclaimed, then enveloped him in a bone cracking hug. "What the _hell _are _you _doing in this fucking shit hole?"

"He's moving back," I answered, unable to contain the wild grin that tore across my face. "And he's staying with me until his parents can find something."

"Is that so?" Cartman asked. He inched close against my side, then gripped my hand almost painfully in his. I winced, but said nothing. His touch was always kind of rough and I guess I'd sort of gotten used to it.

Stan's gaze followed his movements, pausing on our interlocked hands. I caught a glimpse of a frown for a moment, then he smiled up at us. "It shouldn't take too long. My parents already put an offer on a house by phone yesterday. If that goes through, we'll be out of there in no time. I hope it's okay."

"Okay?" I scoffed, reaching out to sock him playfully in the navel. Cartman's grip tightened around my fingers. "Dude, it's great!"

"Yeah, dude, it's great!" Kenny repeated, still hanging off Stan's neck. "We should all sleep over at Kyle's tonight. We'll stay up late, eat junk food, play gamespere-"

"You know that Kahl's a total faggot for me now, right, Stan?" Cartman asked suddenly, cutting Kenny off mid-sentence.

I elbowed him sharply in the gut, which only served to make his smirk widened. Kenny rolled his eyes, and Stan looked between us fleetingly. "Uh, yeah. Kyle... Kyle told me you two were-"

"Fucking like rabbits," Cartman supplied. This time, I socked him square in the ribs. He swore colorfully, but was still beaming at the uncomfortable look on Stan's face. Kenny laughed.

"Knock it off, Cartman," I warned, taking a defensive step back. Cartman hauled me back into him, determined to keep me close. He hadn't known five minutes that Stan was back, and already he was livid with jealousy. He'd always been envious of the bond Stan and I shared. That had been obvious even before he'd admitted it to me, but I wasn't going to let him keep me on a leash because of it. I wrenched my arm free and shoved my hands into my pockets, my eyes burning holes into the slush on the ground.

Kenny kicked snow at me, grinning. "So, how 'bout it, hot ass? Can we play slumber party, too?"

I looked up, smiling despite my underlying anger. "What kind of mood was my mom in?" I asked Stan. His grin came back.

"Tame to mild," he said. "In fact, she keeps saying how happy you're going to be that I'm back. She said you haven't been yourself since we left." He looked down at his shoes, his eyes dancing with hopeful questioning.

I could practically feel Cartman's body heat grow five degrees hotter, his bulky form sweating and trembling with barely controlled fury. "You and Stan can have your faggy little sleepover," he told Kenny, managing to sound calm when I knew damn well that he wasn't. His nails were biting into my palm. "Kahl and I already have plans."

I turned on him. "What are you talking about, Cartman? We don't have anything planned."

"That's because it was supposed to be a surprised," he hissed, narrowing his eyes at Stan like he'd told me a birthday secret. Stan glanced at Kenny, who shrugged. Cartman focused on me again, looking thoughtful a moment. "I got us tickets to that play in Denver you've been bitching about wanting to see."

I gasped sharply. "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?"

"Yeah, that," Cartman said offhandedly, wiping an imaginary stain off his brown jacket.

"Cartman! That's..." I paused, glancing at Stan. His eyes flickered with disappointment, but he quickly snuffed it out, not wanting me to feel guilty. I looked back at Cartman, smiling faintly. "Uh, thanks, Cartman. That's really nice and everything, but-"

"No, no," Stan laughed softly, touching my shoulder. "_Ky, _you should go."

"Yes, Kahl, you should go." Cartman echoed dangerously, his eyes swimming in watery hatred.

"But I-"

"I promise I'll still be here when you get back," said Stan. He drew a cross against his heart, then gave my shoulder a friendly pat. I hesitated for a beat, then returned his smile.

"Okay."

"Great. Let's get a move on, shall we? We've got dinner reservations at six." Cartman coiled his fingers around my arm and started toward his car.

"Wait." I pulled away and turned back to Stan and Kenny. Cartman sighed loudly. "Do you guys need a ride or anything?"

"Got it covered," said Stan. He fished a ring of keys out of his pants pocket and twirled them around his index finger, grinning. "Have fun, Ky."

Kenny grabbed Stan's shoulder, pulling him into his side. "Don't worry, hotass, I'll keep him safe from your fire-breathing dragon of a mom."

Cartman actually snickered at that. He seized my hand and ripped me away, toward his car. I was still too busy reveling in the fact that Stan was actually back in South Park to notice Cartman's silence as we slipped into the small cavern of his Corvette—compliments of his mom's late night "work."

I flipped the heater on the moment he started the engine, shaking coldly in the plush bucket seat and wondering if he was feeling generous enough today to let me wear his jacket. One look at his still angry eyes and I decided I'd better not push my luck. I blew into my hands and pulled the seatbelt over my chest. Cartman paused as he was adjusting the rearview mirror, squinted into it, and then scoffed. "He has a _Mustang_?"

My seatbelt recoiled, snapping back into place as I released it in favor of twisting around to peer out the back window. Stan and Kenny were slipping into a Mustang with Florida plates that read _Marsh92. _A _nice _car. Not new enough or old enough to be a very expensive and sought after model, but still impressive. The silver paint gleamed where the snow hadn't yet coated it.

Cartman seethed. He hated it when anyone else had a cool car, which up until today had included Token exclusively. No one else our age could afford anything more extravagant than used station wagons and VW bugs. The _old _kind. And that was only the handful of kids who were lucky enough to have their own car. The rest had to beg and grovel to use their parents vehicles on the weekends.

All except me, of course. I couldn't even pass my driving test.

"He's got a lot of nerve," Cartman growled. I looked at him, frowning. He waited until Stan had backed out of the parking space before looking at me, fingers curling bitterly against his thighs.

"It's not a crime to have a cool car," I said, unsurprised by his malice. I was getting pretty sick of his juvenile flare-ups with Token about whose car was more bad ass. I was done pacifying his inconsistent ego.

"I don't care about his fucking car. Mustangs are for faggots anyway," he said, impassive. I opened my mouth, then closed it again when his eyes softened. He took my hand carefully, stroking his thumb across my knuckles. "I mean how he just waltzed back into South Park in his designer clothes and pussy sports car like he's Arthur Fonzerelli and expects you to forget about all the shit he put you through."

I hesitated, hurt, and turned to look out the side window. Cartman always knew exactly where to twist the knife. But strangely, he'd been the most understanding after Stan had left. My sole source of support. He used a firm hand when dealing with my emotional breakdowns, but the point was that he had somehow gotten me through, stabilized the tears. I didn't know where I'd be now if it weren't for him.

He captured my chin, turning my head to face him again. He studied my eyes a moment, contemplating. Doing whatever it was he did to read into my soul. It was always unnerving to let him see that deep, always a risk because he was such a manipulative bastard. And it was a little scary this time to let him see just how much I still loved Stan. It was frightening to retain the power to break Cartman's heart.

I closed my eyes, not wanting him to see. His mouth closed over mine possessively, impatiently loosening up my lips with his tongue. I squeezed my eyes tighter and kissed him back, trying hard to release the image of Stan in my head.

But all I could see were haunted blue eyes.

Something was off about Stan. I had noticed it right away. Some lingering air of sorrow that surrounded him, broken and melancholy. Even his laugh was out of tune.

Cartman pulled back, his palm cupping my cheek. He pressed his forehead against mine. "Don't worry, Jew. You're my bitch now. No one's allowed to piss you off but me."

I shoved him away, sinking angrily into the seat. "Don't call me a bitch, Cartman!"

He laughed heartily, leaning forward to shrug his jacket off. "Sit up."

"No."

"Fine," he said, reversing the action to put the jacket back on. "_Fine. _You want your bony ass Jew self to freeze, it's no skin off my balls."

I muttered a string of obscenities before sitting foreword and letting him drape the jacket haphazardly across my shoulders, warm and cozy with his body heat. He looked me over appreciatively, his smirk evolving again.

"Good Jew," he praised, taking some sort of dominating pride in the way I was practically swimming in his clothing. I tried to glower, but a smile formed unwillingly on my face as he nudged my shoulder, beaming.

I snickered as he clicked his seat belt locked and shifted the car into reverse.

---

TO BE CONTINUED.

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A/N: Anyone who knows me is probably completely stunned right about now because normally Cartman/Kyle is appalling to me. But I've kind of grown to appreciate it in a twisted way. Also, Stan will probably always have a silver mustang in all my stories because he reminds me of this guy I used to know who had a silver mustang. :P Reviews are highly appreciated!

-BratChild3


	2. Fireflies

**Authors Note:** Thanks for the reviews! Since I've been asked, I'll let everyone know now that I don't know if this story will remain a CartmanxKyle or ultimately end in a StanxKyle. I just know that you'll be getting plenty of both and I'm going to let this story form how it will. That said, please continue to give me your thoughts with a review. :)

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**Chapter two-Fireflies**

It was after nine O'clock at night by the time we got back from Denver, and it was still snowing. I walked into Cartman's house, wearing Cartman's jacket, and promptly slammed the door in Cartman's face.

"Aye!" He screamed as he wrenched the door back open. Snow-cold air billowed in around his bulky form, rustling the yellow lace curtains and a lone magazine Lianne had abandon on the pink and blue confetti speckled sofa.

"You're letting in the cold," I said evenly, not looking at him as I freed myself from the sizeable confines of his jacket.

"It's my house," He reminded me brashly. "I'll let in the lice-infested hobo that lives behind McDonalds if I want."

After a measured pause, in which I said nothing, the door slammed. I turned as he came up behind me, shoving the jacket into his chest as I strode past him. He grabbed the garment reflexively and hurled it immediately onto the floor. I was already halfway up the stairs when he came thundering after me, shouting my name. I ignored him as I sailed past Lianne's room, paying no mind to the "Do Not Disturb!" sign hanging from the gold door handle.

Lianne was a slut, plain and simple, but I still liked her. She always remembered my favorite foods and she was always happy to have me over. She didn't hover or ask embarrassing questions, like if we were using condoms, and if she knew what our "study sessions" actually consisted of—and I'm almost positive she did—she never let on. Just the way I liked it.

"Come_ on_, Kahl." Cartman was at the top of the stairs, leaning forward with one hand against the banister to catch his breath. "You can't seriously still be pissed off."

I flicked his bedroom light on and slammed the door behind me.

I was still pissed off.

Lying wasn't something I tolerated, and Cartman had done a lot of lying earlier. We didn't really have dinner reservations at six; you don't _need _a reservation to eat at Shakey's. Which, fine, I let him off the hook for that one. No huge deal. Then we got to the theatre and I came to realize that Cartman didn't "technically" have the tickets, which meant he "technically" lied about that too. He also didn't have money to buy said tickets, but that didn't matter anyway because it was sold out. Then he devised some stupid fatass plan to sneak us in. In the stupid fatass' defense, that part went smoothly. Even though I was completely opposed to the idea of sneaking in, I had started to calm a little for all of five minutes before it became painfully evident he'd snuck us into the _wrong _play.

_Avenue Q_, Goddammit.

The door flew open as I slipped out of my sweat jacket and draped it over the back of Cartman's computer chair.

"You know what? I'm getting fed up with your ungrateful attitude, Jew." Cartman fumed, forcing the words out between his teeth. He slammed the door. "You got a free meal and a free show. You should be on your knees worshipping my balls right about now."

"It wasn't even the right play, Cartman! I wanted to see _Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat_!" I began wriggling out of my jeans, pausing halfway to toe off my shoes and kick them under the bed.

"If you had any idea how gay it is for you to want to see a musical play in the first place, let alone one with words like 'Amazing' and 'Technicolor' in the title, you'd be thanking me right now. At least _Avenue Q _has puppets."

"Like that makes it any less gay. It's borderline _flaming_."

"Just like your lovely day-walker hair."

I squeezed my eyes closed and gritted my teeth, desperately trying not scream in outrage and lunge at him. Every time Cartman and I got into a fight somewhere private, we ended up having angry hate sex. And I seriously didn't feel like him touching me right now.

Instead of giving into my fury and bashing his face in, like he so rightfully deserved, I spread my arms and fell back against the bed, sighing. I didn't need to open my eyes again to know he was staring at me. I could practically feel his immodest ogling, burning a lustful hole straight through my green-checkered boxers. I flung an arm over my eyes to obstruct the light penetrating the thin shield of my eyelids.

"What's this?" asked Cartman, gasping in mocked surprise. "The Jew surrenders? You've fallen victim to my unbridled charm? You want me to take you _now_?"

"Don't even think about it, Lardass," I threatened tiredly.

His pants dropped to the floor, pooling around his ankles with a soft whooshing sound. "Oh, I'm way past thinking about it. You can't pull off half your clothes and throw yourself on my bed without expecting me to take what I deserve. That's an open invitation, Jew-boy, and I humbly accept."

I scoffed, refusing to scramble away. I wasn't scared of him. "It's not an invitation. I'm only here because you refused to take me back to my house."

"How can I?" He asked, his words muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head and flung it at me. I launched it toward the right, hitting the blinds on his window. They rattled loudly. "It's still snowing. We had no other choice."

"It's _always _snowing in South Park, you Artard. We had to pass my house to get to yours anyway, but you wouldn't stop to let me out. And I know it's only because you don't want me spending any time with Stan."

"Touché," He agreed calmly.

"You're not going to keep me away from him, Cartman." He ignored my warning in favor of clambering on top of me, forcefully prying my legs apart with his knee. I flinched at the pressing weight, then eased up as the familiar warmth of his breath whispered across my throat. But I still wasn't giving in. "I said _no_, fatass."

"C'mon, you know you want it." He smoothed his hand up my side, breath quickening as he felt up the contours of my body with deceptively tender caresses. I kept my arm over my eyes, refusing to look at him even as my breath caught.

"Yeah, that's it. Now beg for it, Kahl." He pulled minutely at my boxers, then slowly fingered just beneath the elastic waistband. "_Beg_."

It was usually always like this. Cartman and I had never made love. The closest we'd come to that were the nights I had somehow managed to soften him up and find the Eric Cartman within that was actually human. And even those times had a certain edge abrading the tenderness, because no amount of sex could smother the vibrant rivalry between us. I was a Jew and he was a neo-nazi; we were _born _to hate each other.

_God_, _but Stan_...

Stan had been less complicated. The one and only time we had sex— no. No, that was an insult to what we had shared together. Stan and I had never had sex; what had happened between us was nothing short of pure, unrefined lovemaking. He was so different from Cartman—gentler hands, more passionate about the entire act than impatient for the climax. It felt like our souls came together when our bodies did. It still blows my mind when I think about it.

"Come on," Cartman whispered, his lips against mine. I could feel his arousal pressing into my thigh. "Kiss me back."

Despite the irritation that had been coursing me not three minutes ago, I parted my lips, relaxing into familiar sensation of his tongue flirting dominantly with mine. He grunted his approval, slipping my shirt up my stomach. I slid my arms around his neck, finally giving in, trying to focus on his mouth as he moved down to bite at the curve of my neck.

But I still couldn't get Stan out of my head.

I zoned out again, playing our conversation in my head. He seemed genuinely happy to see me, but there was that _something _there that wasn't quite the Stan from my memories. This _something—_strange as it may be—was an emptiness, like he had decayed on the inside.

_Black_, I thought suddenly, my mind spinning at the realization. _He was wearing black._

And, yes, I could see it clearly now: the somber curve of his eyebrows, the remnants of black makeup haloing his eyes, the dull drag in his voice, the hollow ring to his laugh. Somewhere along the way, Stan hadn't been Stan while he was in Florida. He had been someone else, someone darker. And now that he was back in South Park, he was trying to pull Stan out again, but The Dark One was still lingering in the shadows, manipulating his behavior, refusing to let go.

Stan wasn't Stan anymore. He was Raven.

I didn't even have time to panic at the revelation; I grunted suddenly, breaking myself out of my thoughts as a shock of pleasure shot up my stomach. I opened my eyes and found Cartman between my thighs, my boxers missing.

"Fuck, yes. _Yes_," he hissed, more out of overwhelming pleasure than malice. He shoved forward again, moaning as I cried out and melted into the sheets.

"C-Cartman-"

"That's it, Jew," he growled, panting, pushing into me. "You're going to stop thinking about that pussy, Marsh, now. You're _mine._"

"Nnnnuh, God, you're—ahhhh...such a _dick_."

"You're damn right." His hand closed around me, and I was a goner. I arched into him, surrendering; letting my thoughts about Stan dissolve into the back of my mind.

For now.

Maybe Cartman and I had never made love, but, _fuck_, the sex was _always _explosive.

* * *

In spite of the overwhelming fatigue that always consumed me after a few rounds in bed with Cartman, sleep couldn't find me that night.

I lay in bed with my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling long after he'd lost consciousness beside me. One large, possessive arm was draped across my hipbones, heavy against my smaller frame, but not uncomfortably so. Cartman may have been fat, but he wasn't bone-crushingly huge. And even if he were, I doubted any extra weight would distract from his undeniable attractiveness. Cartman was incredibly good-looking. There just wasn't any way around that.

I wasn't the only one who thought so. The first time I'd had sex with him, it had been plainly obvious he was no virgin. He knew too well what to do, his movements too smooth and coordinated, his stamina too high. I never asked him who had been before me; I never cared enough to know. We had come together out of my sheer neediness of someone, anyone who could divert me from the heartache losing Stan had left behind. I never questioned why Cartman was the one to kiss away the tears, I was just glad that he had, and I clung to it, wishing away the pain.

But he was never able to take it away. He only succeeded in masking it, like a numbing balm, keeping me ignorant to the anguish rather than actually healing it. In lieu of falling in love, I had grown to love him in a quixotic sense of the word. From what I'd gathered, the feeling was mutual. I knew Cartman loved me. He had told me so, and I believed him, even if every time he had confessed his feelings, it had been punctuated with obscenities and insults.

I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath, then turned my head to look at him. It was amazing how even while he was in the virtuousness of sleep, I still wanted something hard to beat him over the head with. I smiled at the thought, but not evilly; even when I hated Cartman I loved him. It was nauseating and pleasant all at once. I sifted my fingers through his hair, slightly jealous at the silky way it slid between my fingers. Just another unfair hand I had been dealt and learned to live with. I kissed Cartman's forehead, then slipped out of bed and pulled on my boxers and shirt.

Kenny had stayed over at one of our houses at least four times a week for the past eleven years. Which I'm not complaining about. Kenny was a pervert, but he was a relatively pleasant guest. Besides that, I'm pretty sure malnutrition would have killed him off for good if he wasn't able to get at least a few proper meals a week in him. Whenever he stayed over with me, I'd let him use my computer, and he'd usually stay on until sometime around midnight, chatting secretly to Wendy, his girlfriend of five months; and Butters, the boy who couldn't seem to get enough of him. It was half past midnight now, and I was hoping he would still be there, possibly with Stan.

I pulled Cartman's laptop carefully off his desk and hid with it in the corner of the room, worried the light would wake him. Once I was sure I was situated in a way that would ensure him undisturbed sleep, I signed into messenger and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Kenny was indeed still there. He sent me a message before I could even click his name.

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: hey there hotass. riding cartmans monstrous dick while you type?

**Invincible_Jew:** har har. Is Stan still up?

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: nope.

**Invincible_Jew**: Damn it.

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: he's sleeping naked in your bed.

**Invincible_Jew**: What?!

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: j/k but now your thinking about it

**Invincible_Jew**: No, I'm not.

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: is it making you hard?

**Invincible_Jew**: You're such a fucking pervert.

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: thank you! ;)

I rolled my eyes and began typing a goodnight message, but his next comment had me hitting _backspace_.

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: something's kinda off about him

**Invincible_Jew**: What do you mean?

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: I mean he's different than he was when he left. I cant put my finger on it because he's exactly the same

I chewed my lip, contemplating for a moment.

**Invincible_Jew**: What'd you guys do?

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: he sat marveling at your room for about a half a century. he said cant believe he's really here and from the looks of it he cant believe you still have so many pictures of him plastered everywhere.

I froze, feeling my cheeks heat up. I hadn't been able to get rid of anything that reminded me of Stan. In fact, I still had the wrapper of the _Reece's Pieces _we had shared our last day together, only hours before our fight. It was hidden away in a lock box I kept secretly in the back of my closet. It also contained a picture of us making-out (compliments of Kenny), a love poem Stan had written me when we were first going out, one of the white candles that had been burning on his dresser when we'd made love, and a red mitten he'd accidentally left behind. Cartman had no idea this box exsisted.

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: R U still there?

**Invincible_Jew**: Sorry. You don't think he's depressed or something, do you?

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: nah he was still so stan about everything. he laughs a lot. maybe I'm just not used of someone so laid back. I hang out with a bunch of hotheads.

**Invincible_Jew**: Fuck you.

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: just name the time and place

**Invincible_Jew**: Nowhere, at a quarter till never.

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: heartbreaker. :( BTW stan has a username you should add him. don't shit yourself when you see it tho...

**Invincible_Jew**: Why? What is it?

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: XxRavenxX

I fucking knew it.

**Invincible_Jew**: Great.

**HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69**: knew you'd be thrilled. Im gonna go keep him warm in your bed. Sleep tight hot ass.

He signed out before I had a chance to respond, which was okay by me. I was too distracted to care much about that tonight, or his annoying habit of not using proper punctuation. But Cartman says it's only bookworm geeks like me who care enough about that sort of thing to apply it when I'm chatting, and I had to admit he was probably right.

I turned the laptop off and snapped it shut just as my cell phone blared loudly from my discarded pants pocket. I scrambled for it, fumbling before I was able to depress the volume button and silence it. I looked at Cartman, who mumbled something undistinguishable in his sleep and flopped onto his back. I let out a tight breath and looked at the phone, puzzled. I didn't recognize the number, but I flipped it open anyway.

"Hello?" I whispered, moving blindly back to the corner of the room.

"I just realized something," Kenny said, his voice immediately recognizable even at the echoed whisper it took on.

"Kenny? Where are you calling from?"

"Stan's cell. You know he's got the same exact one as you? It's even the same color," he said. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't want to wake Cartman," I said, cupping my hand around the side of my mouth to better quiet my voice. "What did you realize?"

"He won't talk about Florida," Kenny said bluntly. "I just realized that every time I asked him about it, he'd found a way to distract me or change the subject."

"Really," I mused, perplexed by that. I didn't make the connection at first.

"Do you think something happened to him?" Kenny clued me in.

I frowned, my voice coming out a little stronger this time. "Something like what?"

"I don't know," Kenny said, a slightly frustrated undertone to the words. "Something bad. Something that would bring out that pussy Goth, Raven. It's not just his username. I answered his phone for him while he was taking a shower and they asked for Raven."

"Huh." I chewed on my nail. "Who was it?"

"Don't know. Some dude named Aaron," he said. My stomach lurched, a dizzying hotness washing over me. "When I gave Stan the message that he called, he didn't offer any explanation of who this Aaron person was. He just...changed the subject."

My mind swam with jealousy. I didn't know who Aaron was, but I immediately loathed his existence. It wasn't that I hadn't expected Stan to have made other friends in Florida, I just didn't like it. I didn't want to be replaced as his best friend. As... his boyfriend. I felt nauseatingly ill; threatened.

"Maybe we're reading too far into this," said Kenny, suddenly less suspicious, sounding millions of miles away. "He's the only one who's ever actually moved away from South Park. Of course we're going to break him apart and pick through the pieces to find what's different. But I bet he's finding all kinds of changes in us too. People change, no matter where they live. It doesn't make it bad."

"Yeah. Yeah. No, you're right," I agreed, quickly clinging to that logic. It was true that we were all making snap judgments about him, and that wasn't fair. Kenny and I had both gotten the impression that he still seemed pretty much _Stan. _Whatever differences he'd taken on would quickly come to light and probably wouldn't even be much different at all. Maybe we just needed to get to know him again.

"Ike took to him," Kenny went on, laughing quietly. "he wouldn't leave him alone. Followed on his heels like a puppy."

"Ike?"

"Yeah, you know: Ike Broflovski. Your little adopted Canadian brother with the flappy head."

"I know who you meant, Kenny," I snapped. "It's just kind of weird. He never paid much attention to Stan before."

"Ike's older too. Maybe he just learned what a hot guy is and realized Stan is one."

"Ike's not gay."

"Would you please relax and pop a Midol or something?" Kenny sighed. "If you're this jealous of everyone who so much as looks at him already, you're going to have huge issues with Cartman."

"I'm not-"

"He hasn't forgotten about you," he cut me off, his voice flooded with gentle assurance. "He carries a picture of you around in his wallet."

"He—really?"

"Honestly." I could hear the soft smile in his voice. "It's endearing really. You two have always been a walking romance novel. I have a feeling the plot's about to thicken."

"I'm with Cartman now."

"Exactly," Kenny said eagerly. "But you and Stan have such a deep connection, the love was already thick and crackling in the air between you by the time Cartman and I got out of detention. That's why Cartman dragged your ass out of there so fast."

"He just has jealousy issues," I said dryly.

Kenny snickered and broke into song. "_Can you feel the love tonight_?"

"Hanging up now, Kenny."

"Okay, but do you want me to blow him and see if he cries out your name?"

I snapped my phone shut and sighed. Then I let my head loll back against the wall and closed my eyes, chuckling. Kenny had always watched me and Stan like a soap opera, insisting we were that couple that had always been in love and he was just waiting for that magical moment we would realize it. And, he hoped, would end up in a steamy bedroom scene together that he would get to see. He actually cheered when I told him we had kissed. He didn't even resort to any taunting I-told-you-so's; he was simply thrilled his "favorite couple" was finally an "official couple." He swooned like a girl and was thoroughly turned-on like the incredible pervert he is.

_And_, I thought sadly, my smile falling. _His heart broke with mine the day Stan walked away and never looked back._

But Stan was back now, I reminded myself, trying to find the ray of light again. And maybe things would be different, and maybe we couldn't pick up where we'd left off or even start over romantically again, but at least he was back. At least we could rebuild the friendship that had been damaged along the way.

I sighed again, relaxing further against the wall. It was late, and sleep came easily, claiming me before I could even drag myself back to bed. Reality faded under the vivid pictures of my dreams, and they took me back to a different time. Summer, almost two years ago. Back when I didn't know what pain really was. Back when Stan was mine...

_Stan..._

"_Stan!" I called, pausing to wait for him. "Stan, hurry! We're going to miss it!"_

_He appeared through the overgrown trees, wispy branches snapping back into place as he pushed his way toward me. "I hope none of that was poison ivy."_

_I grinned and snatched his hand, pulling him along behind me as I ran across the clearing toward the stream. It was summer in Hershey Pennsylvania, and I had been invited along on the Marsh's annual family vacation. The air was thick and hot with humidity, but the smell of chocolate filled the streets. _

_Stan and I had wandered quite a distance, determined to see an east cost sunset. We pulled up short when the trees cleared completely, leaving an unobstructed view across a clean field._

"_Look, we're not _too _late." Stan pointed out. The sky was still a prism of color along the horizon, but we were only seeing the end of it. Part of me didn't care so much about the sunset. I just wanted to be with Stan._

_He settled down on the plush earth beside me, wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead. "It's fucking hot here."_

_I nodded, pinching the front of my shirt and fanning it out. "It's kind of nice though. Being out of South Park."_

"_I guess."_

"_You guess?" I asked incredulously, turning toward him. "You _like _South Park?"_

_He smiled faintly at me, crossing his arms against his knees. "I like it wherever you are."_

_I smiled back, beaming. "Would you follow me anywhere?"_

"_To the moon and back," he whispered, his eyes growing deep and serious._

_Butterflies swarmed my stomach. I fidgeted, uncomfortable with the knot tightening in my chest. It pierced me whenever he said things like that, making me ache for something I wasn't quite sure how to describe. I looked back toward the fading green of the sky, then laid back against the grass to look up at the first visible stars, already gleaming like diamonds against black velvet. _

"_Sometimes I want to leave South Park," I said, letting my thoughts flow freely through my mouth. "Sometimes I feel like I'm trapped and all I want to do is run as far and fast as I can. It's like I'll drowned if I don't find some freedom from small-town suffocation." Stan spread out on his side, propping himself up on his elbow to watch my face as I spoke. I continued, knowing he'd always listen to whatever stupid shit I spewed out. "And then other times I can't imagine living anywhere else. South Park will always be home, no matter how far we go or how much we hate it sometimes. And when I think about it, South Park will always be the best place in the world." I turned my head toward him, smiling. "It's where I met you."_

_Stan just looked at me for a moment, then leaned over and brushed his lips against mine. I froze; He froze, but our lips stayed together. A few seconds passed, each of us marveling at the warmth of the others nervous breath against our skin. Then suddenly, without any forethought, I reached up and pulled him down against me. My mouth opened beneath his. He cradled my hips between his hands, relaxing into me as our kissing became fervent, desperate with unsuppressed passion. I felt my heartbeat quicken every time his tongue brushed against mine, tempered with gentility. _

_And for the first time in my life, I felt the freedom of sheer happiness as the sun faded away and the fireflies began to dance._

* * *

I woke up as I was being lifted into Cartman's arms. I grabbed reflexively around his neck, startled by the sudden weightlessness I felt.

"Jesus, Kahl," he said, speaking in a low, nighttime voice. It was then I realized it was still dark. "I know you're a bitch, but I never said you had to sleep on the floor like a dog."

I was too tired to retort to that insult. He set me gingerly back in bed, and I burrowed beneath the blankets, drifting off again as he snuggled warmly against my side.

---

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

_**Bratchild3**_


	3. Reunion

Authors Note:

Whoa, okay so I know its been forever since I've updated this or anything in the SP fandom, but I suddenly had a random burst of "I NEED to write SP!" course through me, and this was the result. I really hope to see some reviews on this to keep my inspiration for this fandom kindled.

* * *

**Chapter 3- Reunion**

It was the sent of Hugo cologne that pulled me from the star-deep nirvana of sleep, followed by the fanning of warm lips against my temple. I groaned at first, not feeling up to opening my eyes yet; it still felt so _early_, though even noon would feel like a 4 AM wake-up call after being slammed in the mattress half the night. Cartman was merciless in everything that he did--rough, careless, relentless. Lovemaking was definitely _not _in his vocabulary, and I was the one who suffered because of it. Sometimes it wasn't so bad. He _was _a fatass, after all; he only had so much energy. Other times he was like a machine, running on an endless stream of sugar-shock vigor that left my insides sore and my body fatigued. It was nights like those (unless I was running on my own fire-fueled energy) that I ached for Stan's unique brand of feather-laced, passionate touches, still impressed into my memory like the fresh welts of a branding iron.

The shadow moved above me, and the fluttering of soft kisses butterflied down my face, stopping and retracting at my jawbone. I stirred, giving one last mournful whimper, and pried my eyelids apart.

Cartman was leaning over the bed, adoration softening his usual scowl, partially shadowed against the pale, cloud-covered light streaming in through the curtains. He brushed a loose curl off my forehead and let his fingers loiter just above my ear for a moment, looking over each feature of my face, taking in and memorizing every line and curve. He offered a faint smile when his eyes met mine.

"You've got morning wood," he said, kneading along my inner thigh. The touch was deceptive, animated with an intentionally seductive rhythm. I snorted, then breathed out a soft laugh. His nose scrunched up. "And morning _breath._ Jesus Christ, Kahl, go brush your teeth."

And just like that, the comforting gesture of his rare, heart-squeezing smile manifested into the wicked grin every person within the city limits was familiar with. The asshole had broken through the neon rays of affection once again, revealing the hideous bastard lurking beneath the surface.

"Shut the hell up, fatass." I shoved at him, squinting and rubbing my eyes as the window light he'd been concealing pooled around his form and then poured against my face as pulled away.

He whistled a particularly annoying tune as he moved to his dresser and began to straighten the tie on his suit.

I stretched my arms, freezing mid-yawn when the formality of his attire began to sink in: the tie, the suit, the nearly overbearing amount of cologne clinging to his skin like thick clouds of cigarette smoke. My eyes shifted to the Hitler tribute calendar above his desk, scanning the glossed surface of each blocked day for the seventeenth.

Sunday.

Oh, God... it was fucking _Sunday_! And that meant Cartman would be forced to release me of my invisible bindings under the obligatory duty of his religion. After a solid two days of being held captive, I was finally going to get to see Stan.

I smiled and bit my lip, trying to hold back the cry of triumph bubbling in my chest. foldING my hands in my lap, I actually thanked Jesus for the Roman Catholic church. It was a goddamned miracle.

"So, Kahl," Cartman said, rubbing a mound of gel between his hands. "What _ever _are you going to do all by yourself this morning?"

I reopened my eyes, smile and prayer-laced hands dropping simultaneously. He was too damn chipper, and whenever he sounded that happy it was cause for suspicion. I avoided looking at my cell phone, just inches away on his side table. One glance and he'd know I was itching to grab it and call Stan the second he stepped out the door. But then there was that part of me that knew he already knew; he wasn't that stupid.

"You never cared what I did on Sunday's before," I said.

His eyes flashed, but he hesitated only a second before returning to prep himself.

"That's a very interesting thing for you to say, Kahl." He paused a moment, combing his hair to the side. "I like to think I keep an attentive eye on you. Just because I let you sleep in my bed doesn't mean I've forgotten what a dirty Jew-rat you are."

I knew what he was doing. He was trying to piss me off on purpose, get me all riled up so I couldn't enjoy my freedom. Fuck him. I was going to keep on smiling no matter what sort of bullshit he flung at me. Today I was going to see Stan; _nothing _could get me down.

"And I know what a malicious bastard you are, so I guess we'll call it even." I shrugged. Maybe if I acted as if it didn't matter, the novelty would wear off and he'd shut the hell up.

Cartman's jaw twitched, eyes narrowing to cosmic pinpricks. "If you don't brush your teeth I'm not kissing you goodbye."

"Maybe that's what I was hoping for."

"Funny, Kahl, that's very funny. I'm flattered you're trying so hard to impress me with your charm, but I'm afraid charisma is just another trait Jews are incapable of acquiring."

He was still too _happy_. Even the slight frustration I had managed to induce was a thin, artificial veil over the way he was positively _glowing. _And it wasn't genuine happiness either. For one, he was _never _genuinely happy; for two, it wasn't happiness to begin with—it was triumph. The bastard was gloating and I couldn't figure out why.

"What the hell are you so happy about?"

Cartman glanced at me through the mirror, then carefully set down his comb and turned, walking toward me. "Let's see: I just woke up from a long night of making love to my boyfriend, it's a beautiful Sunday morning, and in a moment I'll be biting into a warm and buttery home-made blueberry muffin while I head off with my mother to church. What wouldn't I be happy about? " He paused, a wicked grin slashing his face as he trailed a finger down my throat. "Besides, I am _so _looking forward to seeing Stanley at the service. It's been _such _a long time."

Bingo.

How could I have been so stupid? Stan was a devout Christian; of _course _he would be going to church too. I had been too excited by the prospect of my imminent freedom and hadn't taken that into consideration. I _wouldn't _be seeing Stan while Cartman was gone, and that explained why he was so jolly he could put Santa Claus to shame. This whole thing was a game to him, and so far all the aces were stacked conveniently in his pile.

"You fat son of a bitch."

His smile only widened. "I can see that my assumption was correct. You've been waiting for this moment because you were going to run off to play kissy-face the second my mom's cheap Avon perfume cleared the house."

I batted his hand away and tried to get up, but he shoved me back down, beefy hands pinning me against the mattress by the shoulders. My eyes narrowed. "You are _such _a psycho."

"Touché, but I still own your nuts." Cartman's hand lashed out and grabbed my balls, squeezing in gentle pulses. A strangled whimper caught in my throat. I leaned up on my elbows, tensing at the sensation. It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable, and I didn't trust him to release me if I tried to thrash away.

"Let go," I said, trying to keep my voice even. Cartman's grip didn't let up, but he moved his palm up and back. My breath hissed through my teeth.

"Say it."

I was frozen, eyes trained on his dominating hand. "I'm not going to say it, fatass. Just let go." He gave a firm tug and leaned forward, placing his free hand against my stomach for support.

"Say it, Kahl. You know what I like to hear." His lips were against mine, breath hot and fresh with spearmint _Listerine_.

I hated that I liked it, hated that his complete lack of consideration and finesse kindled the sort of anger that sent lust blazing in venom-spiked darts through me. My body was reacting to his demand with embarrassing vigor, steady and merciless.

Cartman's teeth scraped along the curve of my jaw, gentle but threatening, the hand against my stomach curling into my shirt. I whimpered when the fingers of his other hand began massaging against my boxers, then tensed as they tightened again.

"Come on, Jew-boy."

"You do _not _own my nuts." The pressure increased, and I winced. This wasn't worth losing my balls over. "But I'm still yours."

Cartman's hand relaxed. I closed my eyes, rasping for air. He moved upward and kissed me roughly on the mouth, fingers curling into my hair—the motions more of a warning than anything else.

"Good boy," he whispered, and then finally pulled away, leaving me hard and trembling with a foul mixture of anger and humility.

It just kept getting better; now I was pissed off _and _horny.

Cartman was flattening his cowlick in the mirror on the back of the door, looking even more smug now that he'd gotten verbal confirmation of ownership. It was never enough that I was _with _him in any sense of the word, he needed constant assurance that I _belonged _to him.

It was childish and degrading, but hardly worth arguing over. After all, it was impossible under the enforcement of the constitution to _own _someone, so the only threat agreeing to such a ridiculous demand was harm to my own ego. But it was so stupid that the effects were more akin to laughing gas than a blow. If he wanted to pretend I was his dog, that was fine with me. I often pretended he was Stan when we were under the sheets, and that was a bite far more disparaging then his illusions. No doubt he'd be insulted beyond repair if that secret ever got out.

"Maybe you should just stay in today," he said, as if it were some great offering and he were a god extending the beauty of his mercy on me with this request. "If you're good, I'll bring Stanley over for a play date or something."

"I'm not five-years-old, you know," I snapped.

Through the mirror, his eyes gave me a cursory once-over, lingering hard on the front of my boxers. "Believe me, I know."

"Look, Cartman." I pushed myself from the bed and came up behind him, draping my arms around his neck. He reached up and took hold of my wrists. "I don't have anything to hide, but I do want to hang out with Stan. If it'll make you feel better, why don't we all go do something as a group when church lets out? You, me, Stan, Kenny—just like it used to be."

"Hmm..." He looked upward, his thumb rubbing tender circles into the back of my hand, then promptly threw me off, spinning me toward the other side of the room. "No."

I caught myself against the dresser, wincing as my thighs hit against the wooden ledge. I could actually feel the steady flow of malice swimming in rivers from my discarded form as I looked back up at his reflection. This wasn't the first time I wanted him dead.

"I don't trust Kenny any more than I trust your manipulative Jew-ass," he went on, turning from the mirror to face me again. A smiled hinted his lips for a moment when he saw my crumpled stance. I swiftly righted myself, holding my chin up an extra notch. "I wouldn't put it past him to distract me with something so that you and Stan can run off and make ass-babies behind a connivance store somewhere."

"I have a little more class than that," I snapped.

Cartman shrugged, his eyes impassive. "It only took an hour for me to get into your pants. You seem pretty easy to me."

I lurched myself at him, my fingers locking around his throat in an easy vice grip. Cartman stumbled back into the door, rattling the entire east side of the room with the impact. I was half hoping the mirror would shatter and prick against the butter-soft rolls of his fat, but with Cartman in constant possession of the aces in our fucked-up game of a relationship, I was holding all the jokers, and they were laughing at my expense.

"Mah God, it's so-" he paused to gasp, wheezing against the constraint of my fingers. "hot when you're...pissed off."

I slammed him against the door again, then pulled myself away. I'd gain nothing from killing the bastard, besides the ridiculously pleasurable endorphin rush that would surely course me as the life drained out of his eyes. And even then, I would not only have to explain why I had killed him, but also why the corpse was sporting a raging boner. It would be much simpler if he'd just get into some sort of accident; but even then he'd probably walk away without a scratch.

I didn't understand God's brand of justice. Cartman was the reincarnate of Hitler and he was practically immortal. The only conclusion I could reach was that neither Heaven nor Hell wanted him, and so it was agreed to keep him on Earth as long as possible. Let the mortals deal with him.

The dickwad was smirking again when he left, leaving me with a promise that my ass would be so raw by the time he got done with me that night that I'd need a tampon in the morning. It was possibly one of the sickest visuals ever.

I seethed for a while, then decided I'd rather not waste my time sulking over something I should have seen coming anyway. That was only giving Cartman what he wanted, and dating or not, I still hated him. I was determined to make the most of my free time, and the best way I could think of to accomplish that was to get a book and have a quiet breakfast by myself.

Lianne and I both had a love of suspense novels, and she'd given me permission to borrow any of the titles stacked on the oak bookcase in her room. I decided to take advantage of that today, and ten minutes later I was already engrossed in the pages of a crime thriller as I approached the small diner wedged between Raisins and Village Inn. It was one of my favorite places to go on Sundays because Cartman, for whatever reason, didn't realize I came here. That made it the absolute ideal place to hide out until Church ended, and then I'd be able to call Stan without interference.

I pushed the door with my hip and held it open for a lady exiting as I tucked the book beneath my arm. She thanked me pleasantly, and I smiled in return, holding my breath to prohibit inhalation of her offensively concentrated rose perfume. After she had passed, I exhaled sharply and fumbled into the diner, drawn in by the smell of fresh waffles, but faltered halfway through the entrance and stumbled a little as the door swung back to hit me.

Stan was behind the counter, a pink and comically frilly apron draped over his head. He was jotting down something on a small notepad, taking the order of a middle-aged couple at the end of the bar counter. He ripped the page out and stuffed the notepad back into his pocket, then turned and glanced up at me.

"Kyle!" he exclaimed, his eyes brightening.

The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, and I had to mentally coach myself out of my stupor. The mere sight of his smile took my breath away. I kicked myself into gear, realized I was already smiling, and pushed myself the rest of the way through the door. My legs felt stiff, but they still managed to get me across the pink and white tiled floor to the middle barstool.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

Cartman would have made a snide remark about my apparent retardation, and Kenny would have replied with sarcasm. But Stan just smiled as he pulled out two crystal malt glasses from a stainless steel freezer.

"I guess working," he answered, sounding halfway between incredulous and amused. "I came in a few hours ago for an application. The guy working here asked if I've had my shots and then threw this appropriately humiliating apron at me and disappeared somewhere back there." He waved his hand off to the right, indicating the single swinging door leading into the kitchen. "I'd almost forgotten how..._weird _things are in South Park. I've actually missed the insanity, if you can believe that."

I grinned, thrilled he was happy to be back. "No place like home, huh?"

He nodded, eyes lingering over my throat for a strange half-second. His smile wavered a little. "So you managed to break your chains."

I blinked, momentarily startled he was able to talk so comfortably about that. "Yeah, I... guess I did."

We stared at each other, him cool and relaxed, me with bated breath.

"Sundays are...um," I cleared my throat, fidgeting with the silver napkin dispenser. I could see my reflection on the gleaming metal surface; I looked way too serious. "Sunday's are when I take some time out to read. You know, for fun. It's the only time alone I really get."

"I remember," Stan said, quietly. My eyes snapped back up to his. He was looking at my throat again, his expression thoughtful. "But you were always waiting for me under the tree right outside church, and then we'd go have breakfast together. You never went by yourself like this."

I shrugged, looking back down at my reflection. "I guess it's just different with Cartman. He'd probably think I was a stalker if I waited for him."

Stan snickered, pulling a smile out of me. It was a little awkward, but maybe this was going to be okay.

"I thought you'd be there," I said. "At church, I mean. You were the only one who never complained when you had to go."

He looked downward, discomfort twisting his face. "Yeah, I...guess I'm just not ready for that."

Something was _off _again, I could hear it in his tone, but I let it drop as he began gathering the necessary ingredients to fix his customers their order. He moved with a grace that could only be perfected with time well-spent in the kitchen, quick and efficient, no room to be clumsy.

I thumbed the edges of my book as I watched him start the creation of a breakfast shake by peeling a few bananas and breaking off pieces into a blender.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" I asked warily. "I haven't forgotten the one time you tried to make something, you know. Pancakes, and by the time you were finished there was more batter on _me _than there was in the frying pan."

Stan poured a measured cup of yogurt into the mixture, his eyes gleaming. "Ky, are you serious?"

"I'm dead serious! I smelled like IHOP for a week!"

A smile broke across his face, large and suspiciously wicked. "I did it on purpose."

I reeled back. "You _what_?"

"You _do _remember how we cleaned up the mess, don't you?"

"Of course I remember how we cleaned up the mess," I snapped. "We-"

Realization dawned on me very slowly. Stan had been the one who cleaned me up, by licking every square inch of my body. I suddenly couldn't manage to look him in the eye, instead averting my gaze downward. "That was a set-up?"

"Mmm hmm. So you see, Ky," he snapped the blender lid tight. "I know exactly what I'm doing. If memory serves me right, that was the most delicious breakfast I've ever eaten. Loads of protein."

"Stan!" I was surprised at his tactlessness, but I found myself laughing along with him anyway.

He pressed a silver button and the blender whirred to life. I reflexively ducked behind my book, sure I'd be speckled with pink if I didn't have some kind of cover. But the blender turned off a moment later, and when I lowered my book, cautiously, everything seemed to be in the same immaculate condition it had been when I stepped in. I was impressed.

"Where'd you learn kitchen grace?"

Stan was pouring the concoction into the malt glasses. He replaced the dirtied blender on its base and grabbed a can of whipped cream from a small refrigerator, shaking it patiently.

"When I was in Florida I worked at a little diner just on the edge of town." He paused to pop the lid off with his thumb and made several attempts at spraying a curl on top of the drinks, shaking it vigorously between each failed attempt. "And trust me, the place was decorated in colorful eruptions of volcanic food for a good while. What the hell is wrong with this thing?"

He aimed the nozzle of the can between his eyes and squeezed, successfully extracting an explosion of cream. He lurched backward, slamming into a shelf and knocking over a pile of kids-sized plastic cups. I was screaming with laughter before the last of them had even settled around him.

"That was," I started, pausing as I shook with mirth. "so goddamned funny."

"Ha ha." Stan pushed himself up, his dignity somehow magically intact, and went back to the drinks. This time, he topped them off with perfect spirals.

"There," I said, attempting to redeem myself for laughing at him. "You see, all you need to do is stop trying so hard. I'm already impressed, so there's no reason to be nervous."

I was trying to joke around, but Stan's eyes snapped up to mine, startled by the underlying flirtation. I wasn't sure why I said it. Instinct, maybe;we'd been openly flirting with each other since we were nine, for godssake. It was habit.

"You're right," he said. "I never had to try before. You were always naturally drawn to me."

Something about that sounded like a threat, but the words sent a trill of excitement up my spine. I ducked my head, unsure what to say to that. The words were there on my tongue, but they weren't good words. Not good for Cartman anyway.

Stan smiled wryly, tapped the countertop twice and then

slid the shakes over to his customers. His face was blank when he turned back again, and for a moment I saw just how dominate Raven had become below the surface. His eyes were on my throat again, cold and calculating.

Unconsciously, I reached up and touched the skin, then froze completely.

_Oh God_.

In one horrifying moment, I realized what he was staring at. Cartman left a small trail of hickey's down my throat last night, and I had stupidly forgotten all about them. No doubt he branded me with the hopes Stan would see them and become aware of their significance.

I exhaled, trying to calm myself, not wanting to scream in public. Cartman was always one step ahead of me and I fucking resented it.

Stan propped his forearms on the counter and leaned across it, looking darkly into my eyes. "How long have you been together?"

"One year and three months," I said, the words coming out like a memorized prayer.

"One year and three months." His eyes burned into mine, face hardening, and I knew what he was thinking.

It had been exactly one year and three months since he had left, since we had make love, since our break up. Betrayal flashed through his eyes, guilt though mine. Because even though I had never even _thought _of being unfaithful to Stan, I knew how this must have looked to him.

"Why?"

Our noses were almost touching; we were both leaning forward, the intensity crackling like static around us. Neither of us seemed able to blink.

"I guess I lost my mind when you left me," I said, my voice coming out a strained, wheezing sort of whisper. The words left with the vitality of a ghost, thick but invisible and far more haunting in its power. It felt like the first truth I had utter since he'd left; as if everything inside of me had been bottled and sealed with airtight precision, and there was finally a tiny crack where everything that had been frozen inside could begin to thaw and seep through.

And I didn't want to stop. There was so much more that wanted to break lose and find its way to the light, make itself known after being imprisoned and forgotten for so long. But I was still too frozen, too dead on the inside.

A moments pause, a slight tripping of my heart, and suddenly we both broke off at the same time and looked away, me at the damned napkin dispenser and him at the counter top.

"You've slept with him," he whispered.

I looked back up, bland-faced. "Yeah. I have."

I couldn't read his expression with him looking down that way, but I watched his eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he blinked. When he looked back up, there was warmth in his eyes again, humor; it was like Raven had turned to smoke and vanished in a single breath. "Sick, dude."

I snickered.

"How do you do it? You used to hate him."

"Believe me, I still do."

He nodded and fumbled underneath the counter, then pulled out a menu and slid it toward me. "So you want some breakfast? There's an actual cook back there somewhere." He tossed his hand toward the rectangle cutout in the wall behind him.

"Do we trust him not to scratch his balls with the spatula?"

"Dude, I trust no one when it comes to shit like that. You just never know in this town."

"How about just some toast?" I decided, pushing the menu back toward him. He slipped it back under the counter.

"Coming right up." He tinked a bell on the counter. "Order of rye toast, light on the butter."

I felt suddenly warm inside, strangely happy as he pulled a glass from the freezer and filled it with milk.

"You remember how I like my toast?" I asked, awed. Cartman couldn't even remember my favorite color.

Stan nodded and flipped the milk tap off. "Of course I remember. Why wouldn't I?"

"Hey, kid." A man in a sun-yellow T-shirt and grey sweats was peering through the door behind Stan.

"Stan," he said.

"Whatever. My wife's comin' in soon, so your shift ends in five minutes. Be back tomorrow after school."

"Yes, sir," said Stan, but the guy had already disappeared again.

I suddenly seized up, momentarily stunned by the vibration of my cell phone in my pocket. Already I knew it was Cartman. There was no way it wouldn't be.

_Marsh isn't here, _the text read. _You'd better not be at his house asshole._

My eyebrows drew together.

"So, Ky Ky." The brilliance of Stan's smile when I looked up was as dazzling as crystal raindrops. "Wanna hang out?"

I set my phone to mute and slid it back into my pocket, already thinking of a half dozen places we could go where Cartman wouldn't find us.

"I'd love to."

* * *

_-Bratchild3_


End file.
